


Wildfire

by csi_sanders1129



Category: Tintenwelt-Trilogie | Inkheart Trilogy - Cornelia Funke
Genre: Campfires, Comfortember 2020, Fire, Forests, Gen, Gen or Pre-Slash, Magic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-15
Updated: 2020-12-15
Packaged: 2021-03-10 23:00:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,265
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28085082
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/csi_sanders1129/pseuds/csi_sanders1129
Summary: In which Dustfinger makes a promise.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 4
Collections: Comfortember 2020





	Wildfire

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Comfortember 2020, Prompt: Campfire. Set between Inkheart and Inkworld. Could be gen or pre-slash. Comments and kudos would be awesome. Enjoy!

There's something magical about the forests, even here. Back home, the woods are alive with it, full of so many creatures that could never exist here – water nymphs and fire elves and brownies and fairies all call the Wayless Wood home, just as Dustfinger himself once did.

The woods here are not as old as the woods in the world trapped between the pages of _Inkheart_ , where even the youngest of trees could dwarf the entirety of this forest. Still, there's something _ancient_ out here in the middle of nowhere, where the lights and sounds of this strange world don't quite penetrate. Everything is brighter, clearer, simpler. It's a different sort of magic, perhaps.

Out here, he feels a little closer to home, even if it's the last place to be if he ever actually wants to find a way back there.

Dustfinger settles in a small clearing as the sun begins to set, the wind nothing more than the gentlest breeze. The fire is not his friend here, doesn't play by the same rules as it does back in the other world, but it begrudgingly cooperates as he urges a campfire to life. The kindling catches quick, sets the few branches he grabbed along the way alight and leaves them smoldering as he piles on more wood.

Farid appears, then, with another armful of firewood. Dustfinger knows the boy won't venture far from his side anymore tonight, he never does once darkness falls, no matter how many times he's assured Farid that ghosts don't roam these woods. The only things lurking here are the creatures that call this place home. But, just like in his world, while there are certainly some things in these woods that are indeed dangerous – bears and wolves and boars – amidst the harmless voles and deer, rabbits and squirrels, those things all tend to avoid humans.

Gwin skitters his way up Dustfinger's arm, perches on his shoulder munching on whatever meal he's found on his own. Farid sits beside him, and they share their rations, food and water, both of which are starting to get low, and Farid makes sure that the weathered copy of _Inkheart_ is still safe and secure in his bag. "There is a village not far from here," Farid tells him, when their dinner is done. He spreads out a map, trying to mark their path in the dim light the fire provides. He's good at reading them, better than Dustfinger ever was. That's true of most things this world throws at him, though, a fact that awes Dustfinger every time the boy picks up some new skill with ease (the tying of shoelaces notwithstanding). "It looks to be another week's journey to the north, if we do not need to stop for more supplies. Perhaps they will have heard of this Orpheus."

Dustfinger doubts it, but they have little in the way of options. Every reader they've found so far has been unable to send him home, most have been nothing more than swindlers out to make a buck on his desperation. There's no reason to suspect Orpheus will be any different, if they ever do manage to find him. "North it is, then," he agrees.

With that settled, and sleep still a little ways off, Dustfinger calls up the fire again, playing out some simple trick for Farid to practice. The boy picks up on it quickly, once Dustfinger gets him started. He adds a little flair to it, and Farid finds it easy enough to do the same. From there, the game evolves, the two of them crafting progressively more complicated moves, testing themselves and the fire.

The line between the things Dustfinger can do with fire thanks to the lingering traces of magic from the other world and the things Farid cannot do without it is a thin one, but it's one they inevitably cross. Farid comes away from a particularly stunning attempt with the flames licking a little higher than anticipated. The fire bites, and Farid pulls his hands back with a sharp wince, the flesh of his palms singed by the unforgiving flames.

Dustfinger rifles through the contents of their bag in search of bandages to tend to the wounds, wrapping them about Farid's hands along with some soothing balm he'd learned to use on his own injuries over the years.

"You'll see, the fire won't burn you when we're back in my world," he says, doesn't even realize what he's implied until Farid's head snaps up in surprise. Dustfinger finds he doesn't want to take the words back. As much as he hadn't wanted Farid to follow him when they'd first left Silvertongue in the wake of Capricorn's defeat, now he finds the idea of returning home without the boy inconceivable. He _likes_ Farid. He likes how eager he is to learn, how easily he adapts to the baffling things this world throws his way while Dustfinger's spent nearly a decade loathe to change at all. He's sure Farid will adjust to his world just as well.

"You will take me with you?"

"Unless you'd rather stay here, of course. I'm sure you could track down Silvertongue and his daughter, if you wanted," Dustfinger tries, just in case he's wrong, just in case the boy doesn't wish to go with him.

"No!" Farid's quick to answer. Then, calmer, "No. I told you before – I do not belong with them."

' _You don't belong with me, either._ ' That had been Dustfinger's response the last time Farid had told him as much. He had been quite wrong about that.

"I want to go with you."

"Then you shall," he agrees, finds himself smiling at the idea of showing Farid his world. He's told the boy stories, tall tales and legends, told him of the history of his land and the magic it holds. But he likes the idea of getting to see Farid's face fill with awe the first time he sees the towering trees of the Wayless Wood or the fire elves in their nests or the lively performances of the strolling players. He can already imagine how amazed Farid will be when he sees the things Dustfinger can do with fire when it works with him easier than breathing, how eager he'll be to learn the tricks for himself. "But, for now, we should rest. We'll need to find out if Orpheus can help."

So, they do.

The only thing in this world (aside from shoes) that Farid has not adapted so easily to has been the cold. Unsurprising, really, given the world Silvertongue read him out of. Perhaps that's yet another reason he keeps so close to Dustfinger, who always seems warmer than he should. Now, for instance, they huddle together, Dustfinger's arms wrapped firmly around him, to chase off the chill in the autumn air. It's getting colder and colder every night, as winter approaches. Soon, sleeping out in the woods won't be a viable option, but with any luck, they'll be in another world by the time the snows start up.

The stars and moon are bright overhead, and the fire dances within the confines of its small, stone circle, putting on a pretty show. Somewhere nearby, a fox screeches, its banshee wail echoing through the trees. Farid tenses at the sound, all too close to the ghosts he fears so much, but Dustfinger spins him tales of the forests in his world to distract him from the shrill cries.

"You'll see," he promises, holding on a little tighter, "When we go home, you'll see it all."


End file.
